


Walking in the Wind

by aac7



Series: Hilda & the Fawn [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: A timeline from Claude and Byleth's S-Support to their epilogue.orClaude and Byleth have feelings while they're apart.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Hilda & the Fawn [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777594
Comments: 42
Kudos: 111





	1. A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Walking in the Wind by One Direction.

Claude starts talking as soon as her foot leaves the final step of the Goddess Tower. "Sorry for calling you out here like this," he apologizes. "I wanted to talk, just the two of us." 

"I don't ever mind coming up here," she sighs, looking out at the setting sun painting the sky soft hues of purple and orange. “It’s beautiful up here.” How long has it been since she had come here? Surely she hadn't since she and Claude reunited on the day of the Millennium Festival. She can’t explain why but...she feels oddly at peace up here. Maybe it’s because she feels close to Sothis. Or maybe it’s because Claude is here, basked in the warm glow of the twilight and the sight of him alone is enough for her to feel content. A feeling she thinks she could get used to. “And you’re here.” 

“I am.” He smiles warmly as he replies, and she doesn't have to look hard to see that it's a real, genuine smile that reaches well beyond his eyes. He looks relaxed, because he knows that with her, he doesn’t have to be on the defence. “It really is something, isn’t it?” He looks towards the sky, then back at her. “Beautiful.” She isn’t sure if he’s still talking about the sky, and feels her cheeks warm. "There’s a reason why I called you up here. First of all, I wanted to say thank you for all your hard work. It seems like our long struggle may finally be coming to an end." 

"Do you think it's really the end?" She breathes, and he shrugs.

"The way forward will certainly be rough, as all things are in the beginning. Right now, Fódlan is like a newborn. Frail and easily upset." Byleth knows that much is true. There is already unrest within the surviving houses of the Empire and Kingdom as Fódlan transitions under Claude's dominion. "If we don't create a new ruling system soon, the Empire and Kingdom will descend into chaos."

"Starting with the coronation?" She asks, and his smile falters for a moment. He's hiding something.

"The coronation ceremony is the first step," he confirms slowly. "Only then will Fódlan truly be a single, united land.” He pauses briefly, breaking eye contact with her to stare at his feet. "I'm sorry that I won't be by your side at such an important event, but I'm certain you'll do great."

Byleth's brows furrow. "You...you won't be there for your own coronation?" She questions, wondering how that will work _at all_. 

He shakes his head. "I must return to my homeland," he tells her. "As for ruling this new, unified land...Well, I'll leave that to you."

One beat of silence. Two. If Byleth had a heart, she's sure it would skip a beat. 

"Claude..." she starts cautiously. "If this is one of your pranks-" He takes her hands in his, and she falls silent, looking into those green eyes of his and trying to find the mirth she’s sure is hiding there.

She doesn’t find it.

"The Fódlan blood that flows in my veins...I've made use of it as best I could. Now I've got to use my other bloodline to change my homeland for the better. I have royal connections there too, insignificant as they may be. It's time for me to struggle all over again and see what good I can do." 

"You're going...back to Almyra," she realizes, and he purses his lips, grimacing slightly.

"If I don't change things in both Fódlan and the lands beyond, I'll never set eyes on the kind of world I've dreamed of creating." His dream, she remembers from that night on the Star Terrace. _The only way to change things is to bring the whole world together and start anew._

So he's decided that she, a mercenary turned professor turned leader of the Church of Seiros with no political or religious experience whatsoever, can bring three countries together? Two of which are on the verge of collapse? "I can't be a ruler," she insists, because it's true. 

Claude laughs lightly as if she were jesting, squeezing her hands. "You're the successor Rhea appointed, aren't you? And now you're the hero who saved Fódlan." 

"Because I had you with me," she points out, and he shakes his head. 

"All those weak people who have nothing to cling to but their goddess...they'll rely on you just like they used to rely on Rhea. Like I rely on you. You'll be a leader all who are struggling to survive in war-torn lands can look up to. And I...I want a ruler who can lay down a new set of values for the people. Values that don't exclude anyone for being different."

"And that's me?" She asks, still not quite confident in herself or his decision. 

"I know it's a lot to ask, but you're the only one who can do it. The only one I can _trust_ to do it." He drops one of her hands, reaching into the pocket of his coat with his free one. He turns her hand over and drops a ring into her palm. Byleth inhales sharply. "I have something else to ask. Please...I hope you'll accept this." 

He doesn't get down on one knee, and she doesn't expect him to. 

"When I first saw you wield the Sword of the Creator, I wanted to use your power to my advantage. I wanted to use you to make my dream of a new world come true." His expression is serious, and for the first time, he looks nervous.

"And you didn't?" She teases lightly. "Didn't use me, I mean?" 

He blinks at her, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "I'm proposing to you, and you decide to tease me? Didn't think you had it in you, By."

"You don't think I can tease, but you think I can rule an entire country? You really are something else, Claude von Riegan," she muses, and he sighs. "Well? Do continue."

"Ugh," he groans, and she giggles. "Where was I? Oh yeah. Before long, I realized what I really wanted was to see that new world...with you by my side. I still feel that way, you know. I always will...That's why-" 

"You have to leave," she finishes, closing her fist around the ring. "It's okay, Claude, really. I...understand." As hard as it will be to be apart from him, she knows it has to be done. He has to do what he has his heart set on, or else he’ll never truly be happy by her side. 

He looks taken aback for a second, but when he recovers, he steps forward and grabs her face, pressing his lips to hers. Kissing him...it's natural to her now. Her body works through the motions, her hands tangling through his hair, her lips parting when his tongue sweeps across them. They fit perfectly together. They always have. 

He finally pulls away, letting his forehead rest on hers. "Nothing will stop me from coming back," he whispers softly. "There's no way I'm gonna let you go. You know that, don't you?" Byleth nods wordlessly. She knows.

He pulls her in for a hug, and she leans into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of pine needles and sandalwood. "Thank you," he whispers into her ear, his hand resting on the back of her head, the other wrapped around her waist. She grips his cape, not wanting to let go, but knowing she has to soon. "For everything. I'll be back before you know it. We'll only be apart for a short while," he promises, and she nods into his chest. Claude leans back, whistling for his wyvern, whose massive white body appears a few feet short of the balcony. "For now...I'm off to cross Fódlan's Throat." He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment. "I love you,” he murmurs against her skin. “With everything I am. And the next time we see each other...it will be at the dawn of a whole new world. A peaceful, happy world."


	2. The Queen of Fódlan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth's coronation.

_A week ago you said to me_

_“Do you believe I’ll never be too far?”_

_If you’re lost, just look for me_

_You’ll find me in the region of the summer stars_

_The fact that we can sit right here and say goodbye means we’ve already won_

_The necessity for apologies between you and me_

_Baby there is none_

A week after Claude leaves, the day has finally come for Byleth Eisner to be coronated as the first Queen of Fódlan. It takes a week due to the unrest within the nobility at the idea of a commoner taking the throne. Apparently, the written and signed order from Claude was not enough. So, her allies and friends vouched for her at the first ever unified Roundtable conference. The governing bodies of Faerghus and Adrestia sat with those of the Alliance at the table of equals to hear exactly why this woman was going to be their queen.

Judith, the Hero of Daphnel, spoke highly of her leadership and tactical prowess. General Holst Goneril attested to her elite combat and weaponry capabilities. Even Rhea made an appearance to confirm to the devout that she is one with the very Goddess they praise. 

What really swings the general opinion comes from the voices of her former students. Under the banner of the Golden Deer, students from the Empire and Kingdom alike came together to study under _her_ . These children, noble or commoner, drawn to Byleth, who hadn’t even a formal education of her own. They trusted _her_ to teach them the ways of battle. They entrusted _her_ with their lives on and off the battlefield. They followed _her_ through a war. 

Ultimately, her former students humanize her. They made her seem like so much more than simply a tool of war or the vessel of the Goddess. They spoke of her consistent kindness. The hand she extended to all, regardless of status or crest. This woman, who until the war held no allegiance to a certain country, had taken them all under her wing and guided them. 

No one held any reservations after the Roundtable. 

As she waits for her coronation to begin, Byleth sits in her father's study, her fingers tracing a map laid out on his desk. She idly traces the outline of the Alliance, her finger stopping on Derdriu, the Aquatic Capital, Claude’s second home. After her coronation, it will be her home too. She will take up residence in the Riegan Estate, where she will begin her reign. Closing her eyes, she distinctly recalls the last time he brought her there. It was upon their success at reclaiming the Great Bridge of Myrddin in the Alliance's name, and she had attended her first ever Roundtable conference on behalf of the Church. She had spent nearly a month there with Claude. She remembers the smell of the salty ocean breeze, the taste of the fresh seafood, and the feel of his arms around her in the privacy of his study. 

When Byleth opens her eyes, her finger now rests over Almyra, Claude's first home. It was a long time ago, but she vaguely remembers the first time she had travelled there. Her father had found them work not long before they had come to the monastery. She recalls the vibrant colours of the local's clothing, the spicy smells from the food stalls in the market tickling her nose. When her father noticed her eying the stalls, he had used the money they worked for to buy her some of everything, and they stuffed themselves until they were full. It was a good memory. _Perhaps,_ she thinks to herself, _one day I'll see Almyra again with Claude._

Claude. Her chest aches at just the thought of him. She'd been so used to his constant presence at her side during the war, and now after a week of him being away, she feels lost. Realization and guilt wash over her like the sandy beaches of Derdriu. _Is this how Claude felt during her five year absence?_

She shakes the thought out of her head. At least she knows where he is. At least she knows he's coming back. 

A knock at the door startles her. Seteth's head appearing seconds after. "It's time," he tells her. Byleth nods, rising from her father's chair and running her finger over Almyra one last time before she follows him out.

__________

Down on one knee, Byleth kneels on the steps in front of Rhea, her head bowed as she addresses the large crowd gathered in Garreg Mach's cathedral. "People of Fódlan and esteemed guests from beyond its borders," she starts, her clear voice resonating throughout the room. "We are gathered here today to witness the coronation of a queen. As we set a crown upon our new monarch's head, we light a new path for those who walk under her rule. New alliances, new leadership, new growth. There are endless opportunities, and we turn to the Goddess to bless our new queen as she carves this new path for us." 

She feels the tips of Rhea's fingers touch the top of her head. "Before me kneels the daughter of the late Jeralt Eisner, former captain of the Knights of Seiros, also known as the Blade Breaker. Before me kneels the scion to the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros. Before me kneels Byleth Eisner, the Hero of Fódlan. Byleth Eisner, are you prepared to take your oath?" Rhea asks. 

"I am, Your Grace," she recites, her eyes trained on the hem of Rhea's dress. 

"Do you swear to govern Fódlan with justice, honour, righteousness, and loyalty?" 

Byleth swallows the lump in her throat. "I solemnly promise to do so."

"Do you swear to do right by those under your rule? To watch over and guide noble and commoner alike to prosper and flourish?"

"I solemnly promise to do so," she repeats.

"Do you swear to treat relations with our neighbouring countries with the utmost fairness and honour?" 

"I swear I shall make decisions of equal benefit for all parties involved." That one was an add in from Claude. 

"As the new leader of the Church of Seiros, will you to the utmost of your power maintain the Laws of Sothis and the true professions of Saint Seiros? Will you to the utmost of your power maintain in Fódlan the Seiros Religion?" 

"I will," she promises, but is unsure if she can keep it.

The hem of Rhea's dress moves out of sight, for a moment and she hears quiet murmuring behind her. Her sword must have been brought out. Rhea stands in front of her again, and she knows the Sword of the Creator is being held above her head. 

"The most precious Hero's Relic of all, carried by the Fell King Nemesis. The Sword of the Creator now responds to the bloodline of Eisner, the only known bearer of the Crest of Flames. The crest of the Divine Goddess. Do you swear to draw this sacred weapon to defend those who threaten the safety of your people? To never raise it to incite meaningless bloodshed?" 

Byleth's fingers twitch to hold her sword in her hand. "I swear to raise it with pure intentions." 

"Do you swear to raise it against those who blaspheme against the Church of Seiros?" 

"I swear to raise in the protection of the Church," she recites. She raises her right hand, palm upturned, and feels Rhea place the familiar handle in her hand, closing her fingers around it. Byleth then turns the sword around in her grip, letting the tip touch the floor for the final part of her coronation. "To the things I have sworn and promised, I will perform and keep, so help me Sothis." 

She feels Rhea's cool fingers on her forehead, tracing the Crest of Seiros in Holy Oil. Byleth feels her palms begin to sweat as she feels the weight of the crown being set upon her head. 

"Byleth Eisner, you knelt before me a mercenary, a professor, a friend. Now, with the blessing of the Church, you shall rise before myself and Fódlan as a queen. Stand tall and wear this crown with pride, Your Majesty." Byleth slowly rises to her feet, taking extra care to not let the crown slip off her head, and turns to face the crowd.

Behind her, Seteth clears his throat. "All rise for Her Royal Majesty, Queen Byleth Eisner, the Enlightened One, the Hero of Fódlan, and the Ruler of Dawn." 

Overwhelmed by the sheer volume of applause, Byleth finds herself panicking slightly. She’s really the queen now. The Queen of Fódlan. If anyone had told her that picking the Golden Deer would have meant she would become queen of the very lands she walks one day...she would have simply shrugged, maybe laughed a little, and gone on her way.

But here she stood with a crown on her head and a title that would make her father weak with laughter. 

Byleth stares out past the cheering crowd at the sky. The twilight is fast approaching, painting the sky soft hues of purple and orange. She thinks of Claude. The oil begins to slip past her brow, and she resists the urge to wipe it away. 

She focuses on the feeling of the ring sitting against her chest, hanging on a silver chain. If it’s part of Claude’s dream for her to stand here and be called ‘Her Majesty’ then she knows she’ll be okay. 

Right?


	3. The Half-Breed Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude comes home.

_ We had some good times didn’t we _

_ We had some good tricks up our sleeve _

_ Goodbyes are bittersweet _

_ But it’s not the end _

_ I’ll see your face again _

Claude had always known that Byleth would be the key to making his dream come true. His brain combined with her brain  _ and  _ brawn, there was no way they could fail. He’d known it since that night in Remire when she’d taken command of him and their Highnesses. He'd known it the moment she'd overlooked the Royal Highnesses and their bands of nobility and chosen the dysfunctional Golden Deer. On top of that, she brings in the oh so mighty  _ Sword of the Creator _ ? He knew that whatever he did, he could absolutely not afford to lose her. 

So, if she’s so incredibly crucial, why did he leave her behind in Fódlan to travel to Almyra? 

Honestly, Claude still isn’t even sure he made the right decision. If five years without her taught him anything, it’s that his own brain is only half as useful as it should be without her to filter his thoughts or help execute his schemes. In Almyra, Claude is already at a disadvantage. He doesn’t have half the amount of political connections here. He doesn’t have even a handful of friends he can trust. He doesn’t have the Sword of the Creator in his arsenal. He doesn't have the influence of the Goddess incarnate.

He doesn't have his Teach, his Byleth. In Almyra, Claude is just a half-breed prince with a fancy bow. 

Being the youngest in line for the throne, the odds were already stacked heavily against him. Combine that with the years he’s spent in Fódlan? If the odds were bad before, they sure as hell were to be a lot worse now. Yet here he was, sauntering into the Royal Palace and requesting an audience with his father, the King. While he waits, his eyes scan the room. It’s nothing like the audience chamber back in Derdriu.

Though the Alliance was an absolute  _ wreck _ during his time as Duke Riegan, he’d always admired the meaning behind the round table. The table of equals, is what he liked to call it. Where everyone’s opinion is heard and valued.

There is no round table here. In Almyra, you have to fight in order to have your voice even acknowledged. To be  _ heard  _ though... Claude longed to have Byleth here to help him with that. Sure, she would argue that she didn’t know much about politics, but put her in a room full of stuffy nobles and she’ll put each and every one of them in their place. He knew she was more capable than she claimed.

He wouldn’t have made her the ruler of Fódlan otherwise. 

He’d experienced it when he’d brought her to the Roundtable conference after taking the Great Bridge. She’d been nervous (and he’d been nervous for her) but he knew that to win the support of the nobles, the Church had to be by his side. So, like he had been planning all along, he used her. 

But Byleth does not simply allow herself to be used. 

She’d held her own in that conference. She agreed with him when necessary and bared her teeth whenever Count Gloucester tried to rebuke either of them. Claude had a few tricks up his sleeve to sway the vote in his favour, but Byleth had perhaps been the best one. She’d even pulled out the Sword of the Creator ever so casually during the lunch break, sitting and sharpening it by the fireplace for all to see. The look on Count Gloucester’s face when the commoner turned mercenary turned professor turned goddess turned acting Archbishop pulled out the legendary sword was priceless. It was the moment she had won him the Alliance, and in turn, the rest of Fódlan. 

People may claim that she had followed him through the war, but in reality it was the other way around. They marched under the Crest of Flames, her crest, not the Crest of Riegan or the banner of the Golden Deer. She would always be his Teach first and foremost, and he would follow her anywhere. 

So why hadn't he just stayed with her in Fódlan? Why hadn't he asked her to come here to help him win over his homeland? Surely the new united Fódlan would be in good hands had he perhaps let Holst and Seteth take the reins for a while. If Claude had Byleth with him, they could have Almyra under their belts in a quarter of the time it would take Claude to do it alone. The five year war had ended mere months upon her return. 

Claude doesn't get to contemplate it anymore, because behind him the door opens and he isn’t at all surprised when the king isn’t there to greet him, but the queen instead.

In Almyra, Claude is also at a disadvantage because the woman who taught him everything he knows is here to see right through him.

Tiana von Riegan strides into the room and he stands to greet her, his arms open to hug her, but she reaches up and pinches his ear, yanking his head down and leading him out of the room. “Mother!” He hisses, wincing as he stumbles behind her out past the whispering servants. She only lets go when she slams the door to her study behind them, and he jumps up, rubbing his ear. “Good to see you too,” he mutters. 

“Where is she?” His mother immediately questions, her foot tapping the floor impatiently. 

“Who?” He questions although he knows exactly who she’s talking about. Eyes identical to his own squint up at him. He didn’t remember her being this short. “Who, Mother?” 

She stalks over to her desk and picks up a stack of letters he'd written her, waving them in his face. “The professor you’re so obsessed with,” she groans, already annoyed. Claude thinks ‘obsessed’ is a little much, but he knows better than to argue with his mother. “The woman who won you an entire country, boy. The child of the Blade Breaker. The one they call the Ashen Demon. The one who wields the legendary Sword of the Creator. The woman who wears  _ my _ ring on her finger.” She thrusts the letters into his chest. "I would like to meet her." 

“She’s Her Majesty, the Queen of Fódlan now,” he informs her. “She rules all of Fódlan. The Leicester Alliance, Adrestia, Faerghus, all united under her rule.” 

To his surprise, she actually looks shocked at the revelation, her mouth hanging open for a moment. “Boy...what  _ exactly _ did you do?”


	4. One Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little reunion makes Byleth reflect on the last few months.

_ Yesterday I went out to celebrate _

_the_ _birthday of our friend_

_ But as we raised our glasses up to make a toast _

_ I realized you were missing _

"Happy birthday, Hilda," Byleth grins, wrapping her arms around her former student. "I've missed you so much," she sighs, squeezing her tightly. She really has. In the months since her coronation, she'd spent too much time alone with Seteth and not enough time with her friends. 

"I've missed you too, Professor! Or should I say, 'Your Majesty,'" Hilda giggles upon releasing her. "I'm surprised you made it! Holst tells me you've been all over Fódlan as of late," she says, grabbing her hand and dragging her down the hall. "Even so, I'm so glad you're here. Everyone sure has missed you." 

In all honestly, Byleth was surprised she had made it here too. With the unification of Fódlan came a mountain of paperwork and an endless plethora of issues to solve. When she wasn’t stuck in Derdriu for audience, she was travelling around Fódlan both on behalf of the Crown and the Church. She’d split her time between overseeing restoration efforts of lands ravaged by war, and visiting the three main churches to guide the reformation of the Church of Seiros. 

She was exhausted.

But she had missed too many birthdays already. Whenever an invitation came, she was always needed somewhere else. Whether that was in Faerghus to settle disputes between the new governing lords, or in Adrestia to quell Imperial rebels, there was always something to be solved, something to be fixed. Even upon returning home, she would then travel straight to Garreg Mach to elaborate on her new set of rules for the Western and Eastern churches. 

So when she realized that Hilda's birthday was coming up, she had planned around it a month in advance. She told Seteth 'no' to travelling during the Pegasus Moon, and ground herself into the dirt making sure that for the first time in months there would be nothing needing her immediate attention, or couldn't be handled by a proxy. She could not miss this. For one day she could afford to eat and drink with her friends. For one day, she could lift the weight of the crown on her head and just...exist. 

"Your Majesty!" Holst interrupts as soon as Hilda opens the door. "While I have you here, I have some reports I need you to take a look at about-" Hilda places her hand on her brother's chest, shoving him back into the dining room. 

"Not today, dear brother.  _ Byleth _ is here to relax at my party, not 'Her Majesty,' so save your little reports for tomorrow, alright?" She demands, waving a finger in his face until he trudges back to his seat.

A mix of 'Professor' and 'Your Majesty' greet her when she steps into the dining room after Hilda, and she feels a painfully large smile appear on her face at the chorus of familiar voices. Hilda more or less shoves her into a chair between her and Holst, and drops a pile of food onto her plate. As she eats, her friends fill her in on their new lives after the war. Ignatz spoke of the paintings he'd been commissioned while travelling with Raphael and Maya. Lysithea spoke of her new spot teaching at Faerghus' School of Sorcery where she worked with Annette. Dorothea spoke of her newfound adventures in Brigid with Petra, whose coronation was actually coming up in a few months. 

There were also a few faces, however, that she actually saw on multiple occasions due to their political roles within her court. Felix was her proxy and advisor when it came to maintaining Faerghus, Caspar assisted on issues within Adrestia, and Marianne was her court physician. Though they all resided in Derdriu with her, she saw little of them in her rare periods of free time. 

Byleth had also learned a few surprising facts about her friends tonight. Sylvain had proudly shown off a blushing Ingrid's engagement ring, handing out invitations to the Gautier-Galatea wedding happening in the near future. Hilda even prattled on about her new relationship with Marianne. Leonie spoke of the honour of being dubbed the "Blade Breaker II" by her father's old mercenary group.

_ I'm missing things _ , she realized with a heavy heart. She had missed five years of their lives already, was she really okay with missing more? While she was bound to her duties, so many of her friends were pursuing the lives they'd wished to lead after the war. Of course nothing would be perfect, but they spoke so fondly of all they'd done, and she was happy for them, of course. They were all so happy. She felt a brief surge of emotions shoot through her core. For a second, she felt heated. Anger, envy...resentment. For a second, she was jealous. 

The familiar wave of guilt washed over her again, dousing her angry fire as quickly as it had appeared. It's not fair for her to feel that way. This is what they had fought for. This is the Fódlan they had aimed to build. A Fódlan where their friends had the freedom to live their lives and smile and laugh and be happy. 

But was she happy? 

That was a complex question. She was honoured, of course, that Claude had entrusted her with such a crucial role in his dream but....

She was exhausted. 

Had he told her that she would rise unbearably early and fall asleep at her desk in the early hours of dawn, would she have accepted? Had he told her that she would be forced to sit through meetings and listen to petty noble squabbles while their people starved, would she have accepted? Had he told her she would have little control over almost every aspect of her life, would she have accepted? 'Eat this, Your Majesty, you must grow stronger.' 'You must wear a dress and in this colour, Your Majesty, it's only befitting for someone of your station.' 'This flower for you hair, Your Majesty, it's traditional.' 'You must execute them, Your Majesty, what they have done is unacceptable.'

Most importantly, had he told her that she would have to do this alone, would she have accepted?

Probably not. 

So why had she?

The sound of her friend's laughter drew her out of her silent reflection. She caught the ends of banter between Sylvain and Felix, whose cheeks were turning pink at the mention of...Annette? 

The soft ring of a glass being tapped drew her attention next, and she saw Holst rise beside her, clearing his throat. "Thank you for coming, everyone. As you all know, we're here to celebrate a very special person tonight. Hil?" Byleth turned to her left to see Hilda give a little wave, her eyes sparkling. "You're the best little sister a guy could ask for, and I couldn't be prouder of the work you do here at the Locket. Happy birthday, you pink menace," he smiles, raising his glass. "A toast to the birthday girl." 

Everyone cheered, raising their glasses, clinking rims. "Group hug!" Raphael yelled, running around the table and launching himself at Hilda. Leonie was next, followed by Ignatz, Lysithea, Lorenz, and Marianne. Soon, the whole group was squeezing in to hug a giggling and giddy Hilda. 

It was that moment that Byleth knew why.  _ This _ was why. 

Her friends-no, her family was happy. The people in this room were her everything, and if their happiness came at the sacrifice of her own, so be it. They were all she had left. She was doing this for her family, and that included Claude. 

She had to believe in him. She had to believe that things would be different when he came back. She had to believe that whatever he was off doing in Almyra would not only make his dream come true, but make her life easier. There was work to be done, reforming an entire continent was no easy feat. New rules, new alliances, new everything. It would certainly be a long process, but it was what she and Claude had signed up for. 

"Professor!" Sylvain calls, snapping her out of her personal pity party. "Come join us!" Byleth chuckles, rising out of her seat and joining in on the hug.  _ Perhaps _ , she thinks as she wraps her arms around her family,  _ one day Claude and I will be able join you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Almyra, Claude feels a shiver run down his spine and his instincts tell him that Byleth is getting impatient.


	5. Who Do You Fight For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude prepares for the fight of his life.

_We had some good times didn't we_

_We wore our hearts out on our sleeve_

_Goodbyes are bittersweet_

_But it's not the end_

_I'll see your face again_

Be on your toes, be ready to fight dirty, don’t forget to block, and if you feel panicked, take a second and breathe. Those were the basics of battle that Byleth had taught on her first day of teaching back in the academy. He tries to apply them but he’s just so tired.

His mother does not seem to notice (or care) as she sweeps his feet out from under him for the tenth time this session, her sword levelled at his neck. He groans, shoving the blunt end of the sword away from him and sitting up, rubbing his back. “Do you have to do that every time?” He grunts, watching as she deftly twirls the handle in her grip, not bothering to help him up.

“It wouldn’t be every time if you simply studied my movements and saw it coming,” she scoffs, swinging her sword at him again. He blocks with his own, feeling his muscles strain as he succeeds in repelling her strike and pushing her back. That doesn’t stop her though, because she’s already charging him again, sword out to slash him in half. He jumps back before she can catch his midsection in what would have been a bruising hit, quickly bringing his own sword down in a backhanded swing, knocking his mother’s out of her hand. 

His mother leaps back and he sees her eyes flick to her weapon laying across the room. Her eyes are simultaneously calculating and weighing the risks of retrieving her weapon or fighting unarmed. She’s taking into consideration the height difference, raw strength, and overall combat ability. It’s funny, Claude is the one that’s armed, but under his mother’s piercing gaze, he feels about as defenceless as a deer caught in a trap. 

His mother is the hunter.

She doesn’t waste a second more contemplating her next move, springing into action. She launches herself at him, leaping so high up that he’s momentarily stunned. Then her knee meets his chest, and he’s on the ground again, the wind knocked out of him and the wooden blade of his own sword pressed against his neck. 

“You’re too slow on foot,” she says matter-of-factly, driving her knee deeper into his chest. “You’re used to your wyvern keeping you out of harm’s way. You’re used to drawing back an arrow and killing your enemies before they get in range to strike you. It won’t be like that next week, boy. It’ll just be you, your mind, your body and this flimsy piece of wood.” She chucks the sword aside, lifting her knee a little to give him some more breathing room. “While you were in Fódlan drinking tea with the nobles and playing around as _Duke Riegan,_ your brothers were here on these very grounds, training to beat you and each other bloody to take that crown.” Claude swallows thickly, her words like a bucket of cold water. 

Though he had been training with her for months, his hand-to-hand combat skills were sorely lacking in comparison to his brothers. It was just never his area of expertise. He’d always known this day was coming, so he’d even asked Byleth to give him a few pointers back in the academy. After their first lesson, he’d asked her if she thought he could test out his brawling skills in battle.

She said he could, but to bring extra vulneraries and stay where she could see him.

Not very comforting then, and not exactly comforting now. 

His mother pushes herself off of him, dusting herself off and nudging his side with her foot. “Get up,” she demands. “We’re doing it again.” 

Claude doesn’t move. His whole body aches, and he’s tired. If he keeps going, he would surely pass out before she gets the chance to knock him out herself. “ _Maman,_ please,” he pleads quietly, and he sees her expression soften momentarily, just as he had hoped. 

But if there’s one thing his mother is not, it’s soft. “Fine,” she sighs, offering him her hand and hauling him roughly to his feet when he takes it. “We’ll break for lunch, then you can train with Nader instead.” Claude nods, holding back a relieved sigh as he follows her out of the training grounds, doing his best to hide his limp. 

They make a quick stop to the kitchens, his mother putting in a request for a quaint meal before leading him up to her study. On the way, they pass his oldest brother, Amir. “Khalid,” he greets, and Claude nods in acknowledgement as they exchange tight-lipped smiles before they continue on. He immediately shuts the door upon entering her study, blocking out the eyes and ears he knows are always following him.

Taking a seat across from his mother’s desk, Claude lets his mind wander to his siblings as she busies herself with some reports. It wasn’t that Claude was on bad terms with his half siblings, it was just that he wasn’t exactly on good terms with them either. It was an odd grey area that he never really understood growing up. They were always civil with one another, but there was a strain to their relationships. At first, he had assumed it was because he wasn’t of pure Almyran blood like they were. The people of Fódlan were seen as cowards, and he had half of that blood flowing through his veins. Then he thought it was because their own mothers had been so easily replaced by his own. Tiana von Riegan has been the Queen of Almyra for a full 23 years now, the only woman to hold an actual place by the king’s side and rule as his equal. It wasn’t that either, though.

The real reason, Claude has come to realize, was that he was their father’s favourite. 

It became evident in the way Claude always sat at his father’s left at meals, his mother on the right. Almyra’s most esteemed general was granted to him as a retainer. The first albino wyvern born in years wasn’t granted to the eldest child of the royal family, but to the youngest instead, the very symbol of pure Almyran strength and royalty given to him, the half-breed. The rest of the country may hate him, but for some reason, his father didn’t. 

Over the course of the past few months, while he had been bested in combat, his father had also given him plenty of opportunities to prove himself amidst the minefield of Almyran politics. Maybe it was because of his silver tongue when he negotiated trade on his father’s behalf? Perhaps it was his strategic tactical mind, refined further by Teach, of course, that won him over. Or maybe his prowess over his siblings with a bow, his father’s own weapon of choice. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was the son of the woman he had chosen to settle down. 

Or was it the fact that Khalid had succeeded in ‘conquering’ all of Fódlan? 

“Stop thinking and eat,” his mother commands when the food is laid on her desk. On the plate in front of him is a simple and healthy portion of rice, coupled with some nicely seasoned roasted meat. Though he keeps his eyes on his meal, he can feel his mother’s gaze burning a hole through his head as she eats her apple. “Tell me of your time in Fódlan,” she says suddenly, and Claude pauses, caught off guard by the question. She had never asked before, so he never bothered to tell her. 

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. What was there to tell? He’d written about major events in the annual letters he’d get Judith to sneak across the border. “What about it?” 

“Everything,” she shrugs. “Your friends, the academy, the war, the Alliance, your…grandfather. Is it so wrong of a mother to wish to know what her son has been up to for eight whole years?” 

Well, he can’t argue with that logic. So, Claude tells her everything. From Hilda and her laziness to the fact that the Seiros Religion has been hiding some pretty harsh truths. What intrigues her most, however, is when he speaks of Byleth. 

“This woman…Byleth,” she says slowly. “Meeting her has changed you, I can see it now. You’re open, more trusting. I daresay loving, even,” she observes softly. “When you were a child you were always so guarded, you had to be. Judith told me you were much the same when you enrolled at the academy. Now that you’ve returned home, however, I see how you speak of her, and your friends even. You genuinely care about them. I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice. You aren’t a boy who likes playing games and treats those around him like disposable pieces anymore. You’re a man with something to lose.” 

Claude shifts in his seat. “Is that...a good thing?” A man with something to lose is vulnerable.

“Yes,” she nods. “A man with something to lose fights hard to protect it. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? It’s why you’ve willingly chosen to leave the woman who has claimed your heart. Why you’ve left the rest who I can see you’ve grown to care for and respect. You’re not just here for your dream of open borders and free lands. If this senseless hatred between the two countries we love continues, people like them, people like _us_ will never truly know peace on the lands we walk. That’s why you’re here, boy. For them. For her.” She reaches out, brushing the backs of her fingers against his cheek. “You’re more than just a brilliant mind, you know. You’ve always had a kind heart, Khalid,” she murmurs, “you just needed to meet the right person to bring it out.” 

Claude places a hand over hers, leaning into her touch. That was his mother, seeing right through him as always. 

__________

  
  


“Are you ready, kiddo?” Nader asks, hand clapping his shoulder. Claude swipes some leftover sweat from his brow. The final fight is coming up in a few minutes, and Claude is nervous as hell. He’s going up against Amir, who Nader has claimed was going to be his biggest obstacle in the race for the crown. Claude had barely made it through the rest of his brothers, his victories far more narrow than he was comfortable with. He had barely managed to get the first two to tap out, the second two had him in the ropes the entire time, he only emerged victorious after he had knocked them out cold. 

“Not really,” he answers truthfully. He’s covered in dust from rolling around in the colosseum, bruises decorate his olive skin, and he reeks of sweat and blood. “But I don’t really have a choice, do I?” The final fight for the Golden Throne. The fight for the crown.

“Nope,” Nader answers, and Claude sighs as his retainer tightens his grip on his shoulder. “Remember, his weak spot is his left shoulder. He messed it up real bad last year falling from his wyvern. A nice, dirty little jab right on that sweet spot should do the trick. It’ll buy you time to lower his defences and deliver a finishing blow or lock him down, alright?” Claude reaches into a nearby water basin and splashes himself with the cool water, nodding in reply as the tendrils run down his bare chest. 

Nader stands in front of him, leaning down and grasping the back of Claude’s head, placing a chaste kiss on his sweaty forehead. “You don’t lose nerve for a second out there,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “You don’t listen to the crowd. You don’t listen to your father. You don’t listen to Aamir. When you step out there, you listen to this,” he pokes Claude’s forehead, “and this,” he jabs his index finger into his chest, right over his heart. “Now, tell me who you fight for.” 

“For By,” he answers immediately, fingers tightening around the wooden handle of his training sword. “For _Maman._ ” Satisfied, Nader nods once, releasing his head and walking briskly towards the door. 

“Make us all proud, kiddo,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Byleth’s voice echoes throughout his head on a loop as he tries to slow the pounding of his heart. _Be on your toes, don’t be afraid to fight dirty, don’t forget to block, and if you feel panicked, take a second and breathe._

__________

  
  


Claude is panicking. Slightly. 

He does his best not to let it show as he steps back out of Amir’s reach to catch his breath. He watches his brother do the same, both of them panting like dogs but not taking their eyes off one another. The harsh afternoon sun doesn’t help at all. The need to squint under its glare limits his vision, and the brutal heat beating down on them does nothing but tire him out faster. 

A few feet across from him, Amir still grips his training axe tightly in his right fist. His eyes are gleaming with the sheer determination that their brothers lacked earlier today. He’s trained for this his entire life. In Fódlan, it would have been his birthright, but here he was tumbling around in the dust against his youngest sibling to claim the most esteemed title one could wish for. 

His brother doesn’t waste another second catching his breath, tossing his axe aside and lunging for him. Claude wants to move, but he feels heavy. Each movement felt weighed down by boulders, every breath he drew felt like fire in his lungs. The physical exhaustion weighs him down so much that before he knows it, he’s on his knees, Amir’s muscular arm wrapped around his neck in a chokehold. 

The world starts to go blurry, and Claude starts panicking as he grasps the offending arm weakly. The roaring of the crowd screaming for his demise seems to add fuel to Amir’s fire as he tightens his hold, the last remnants of air squeezed out of Claude’s throat.

He’s going to lose. His dream is over. It wasn’t worth it. Claude is about to tap out when he locks eyes with those identical to his own. 

This is how he repays his mother, who had defied every odd to bring him into this world and show him how to walk it? This is how he repays Byleth, who turned his own beliefs into her own and chose to stay by his side?

No. This is not how he will repay them. He will win. He has to. He gathers every molecule of strength he can muster, shakily rising to his feet, grasping Amir’s forearms, and launching him off his back so he lands a few feet in front of him.

Winning today is the least he can do to repay them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Derdriu, Byleth has a dream about a shirtless Claude holding a sword and wakes up a little hot and bothered.


	6. Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The preparation, the fight, and the aftermath of the Battle of Derdriu.

_I know we’ll be alright, child_

_Just close your eyes and see_

_I’ll be by your side_

_Any time you’re needing me_

From the window of her second floor study, Byleth stares out at the city she has come to love. There’s no late night murmur in the once colourful and lively streets. There’s no warm glow coming from within houses of families and friends enjoying late night conversations over ale. There’s just nothing. A heavy silence has fallen over Derdriu, the last ship carrying civilians long departed to the coast of Fraldarius. 

They hadn’t known until it was too late, the impending army had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, leaving them barely a week to prepare. Scouts reported Imperial rebels paired with the remainder of Those Who Slither in the Dark, the sum of soldiers larger than their own by an estimated one-third. They were predicted to set foot in Riegan territory in the early hours of tomorrow’s dawn, marching straight for Derdriu. 

It was too late to send for aid from the houses of Faerghus and Adrestia. The only thing Byleth could do was evacuate the city, reshuffle the soldiers stationed within the Alliance and stand upon the field herself. Their army was still too small. The losses they had suffered during the war were far too great. She couldn’t exactly pull her soldiers stationed outside of the Alliance, she swore to do right by all three countries, and should Derdriu fall, she had to leave them a fighting chance. 

Byleth reaches around her neck, unclasping her necklace and holding the sparkling emerald ring between her thumb and index finger. Judith had sent a letter to Claude in Almyra. Byleth had tried to write one herself, but each time she set her quill to the parchment, all she felt was guilt, failure, and a great sadness because she knew. She knew that tomorrow, the tides of war were not in their favour. Derdriu, Claude’s second home, was more likely to fall than not. 

Byleth knew that she was likely going to fall tomorrow too. There was no way they would let her live, but she would rather die fighting than surrender willingly. 

So, in her letter she wrote a simple goodbye and an apology, letting Judith take care of the rest. 

She hears a soft knock in the door, but doesn’t bother turning around, closing her fist around the ring. It’s probably just Seteth anyway. “Come in,” she sighs, hearing the door creak open. “I already told you I can’t possibly sleep, Seteth. Just go to bed, I’m fine.” 

An annoyed scoff that is definitely _not_ Seteth surprises her, and when she turns her head, she sees Felix standing in the doorway. “Do I look like Seteth?” He grumbles, shutting the door behind him and joining her at the window. The Aegis Shield rests on his back, and the Sword of Moralta is strapped to his hip.

“I didn’t expect you here,” she admits truthfully. Felix had been in Faerghus this past month helping Lord Rodrigue train new recruits. “Why…why did you come back?” She hadn’t sent word to conscript her friends, Byleth couldn’t do that to them. They didn’t deserve to fall with her tomorrow because she had failed as a ruler.

He looks at her like she’s stupid, so a normal look for him. “For you, obviously. Did you think we would just leave you here to die?” 

Byleth’s eyes widen. “We?” She echoes, and he nods. There were more of them?

“Annette, Sylvain, and Ingrid are downstairs convening with their battalions,” he tells her, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “We just got in about a half hour ago.” 

Byleth feels something warm swell in her chest, a small smile finding its way to her face. “Thank you,” she whispers. “You didn’t have to come, I wouldn’t have expected you to. They’re calling for the fall of _my_ kingdom, I must bear those consequences.” To her surprise, Felix ‘love is weakness’ Fraldarius grabs her hand squeezing tightly.

“You know it’s not your fault, right? You...you couldn’t have seen this coming. No one had any idea. This was on all of us,” he tells her, and she wishes it were true, but she can’t shake the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. “You’re not going to die tomorrow, none of us will let that happen.” He begins pulling her out of the room, and Byleth has little will to protest as he leads her downstairs. 

A bittersweet sight greets her in the entrance hall. Amidst the soldiers running around to prepare, her friends stand talking amongst themselves. Ignatz is counting arrows in his quiver, Lysithea and Annette are handing out concoctions and elixirs, Raphael is adjusting his silver gauntlets. Lorenz, Sylvain, and Leonie are going over a map with the cavalrymen, Ingrid sharpens Lúin as she speaks with the Falcon Knights.

A flurry of pink approaches her and Felix. Holst and Hilda stand in front of them, donning shining silver armour with pink accents. Hilda holds Freikugel, a wicked smile on her face. “Inviting my brother but not me to the reunion? A little harsh, Byleth.” 

Byleth is still a little stunned, looking around. “I didn’t think-” Hilda stops her, holding a hand up. 

“Oh, stop it. I’ve missed Marianne, and I was _so_ bored at the Locket. Might as well come here and swing my axe at some pasty magic freaks,” she chuckles, hefting Freikugel from one hand to another. Hilda scans the room, and Byleth knows who she‘s looking for. “Seems like we are missing a certain someone though. I really thought-”

Holst nudges his sister with his elbow, flashing Byleth a smile. “We brought a little more than half of our men. This one thought we needed a little more, so we brought three quarters.” 

“Thank you,” Byleth nods, letting go of Felix’s hand and throwing her arms around the two siblings, both of which hug her back. “Truly.” 

“Professor! Your Majesty,” her family greets, all of them surrounding her as soon as they catch sight of her. 

Leonie throws an arm around her shoulders. “You didn’t really think we would miss out on this fight, did you?” 

Lysithea is grinning hugely in front of her. “We’re a team, Professor!” 

Though Byleth knows she’s happy, she feels tears prick the corners of her eyes, quickly blinking them away before anyone sees. “Thank you for being here. I’m truly honoured to have you fighting by my side once again.” 

“That’s your big speech?” Felix chuckles beside her. “You can do better than that, Eisner.” 

Byleth rolls her eyes. “Alright, alright.” She levels a solemn look around at each of her friends. She isn’t Claude, she’s not good at using fancy words to raise morale. All she can do is tell them the truth, and hope that it’ll be enough. “This is our last stand,” she tells them. “They’re coming to conquer and kill, much like we did to them months ago. They’re angry, but so are we. The new peace we’ve worked hard to create and maintain is being threatened. The new world Claude wants to see hangs in the balance, and we owe it to him and ourselves to fight to our extents to protect it. My friends, thank you. Your loyalty and friendship are truly a blessing, and please, take care of each other and yourselves. You deserve it.” 

  
  


__________

  
  


Her and her deer stand on the front lines as the sun begins to rise in the east. Felix stands on her right, sword drawn, pulsing with white magic, his expression hardened. On her left, Hilda leans against her wyvern, Freikugel glowing a bright yellow. Marianne is behind her on Dorte, healing staff strapped to her back. Byleth once again dons her Enlightened One diadem and cloak, Seiros Shield strapped tightly to her left forearm, Sword of the Creator throbbing in her grip. Her other hand holds the ring hanging from her neck, and she raises it to her lips, kissing it softly before tucking it away into her shirt. 

Sylvain is the first to point out the incoming wave of black and red. They’re coming in faster than Byleth anticipated, but she is ready nonetheless. “Archers,” she commands, hearing the sound of arrows being drawn, waiting for her signal. When their enemies are close enough, she nods to Ignatz, who releases the first arrow, his action followed by thousands more. They watch with heavy anticipation as the arrows sail through the air hitting their marks, but not slowing the survivors any less. 

The time is now, she knows. Her friends know too. Felix’s stance changes, Hilda mounts her wyvern. Byleth closes her eyes and allows herself to think of Claude one last time, the things she loves most about him flashing through her mind. His eyes, his smile, the feel of his hand in hers, the way he says her name. Satisfied, she pushes the thoughts of him out. The battlefield is no place for idle thoughts. 

Byleth raises her sword, an angrily glowing signal for her troops to engage. Her legs propel her forwards, her friends hot on her heels and taking to the skies above her. A single cry leaves her lips. “For Fódlan!”

  
  


__________

  
  


Byleth is exhausted. 

How long had they been fighting? Thirty minutes? Forty-five? Surely it couldn’t be more than an hour, but her entire body is screaming. There’s an arrow stuck in her left shoulder, the shaft is broken off, but the arrowhead has not been pulled out. There’s a deep cut that aches with every step on her right calf. Her sword feels heavier than ever as she cuts down another mage. 

She immediately takes a few steps backwards to dodge a bolt of Thoron, stumbling over what she knows must be a dead body. The mage who cast Thoron is about to hit her with a pretty powerful looking spell, but the sparks disappear as they’re impaled by a familiar sword. The body drops, revealing Felix, covered in a mixture of blood that is and isn’t his own. He rushes over to her, grabbing her by the upper arm and pulling her to her feet. “Quit being pathetic,” she hears him mutter under his breath. She nods to him once, and they stand back to back, Byleth’s sword whipping back and forth to sweep their area and push forwards. 

“There’s too many mages,” Felix yells over the screech of clashing metal and the crackling of magic. “We have to fall back into the city.” 

Before Byleth can reply, a huge ball of fire is hurtling in their direction, and they both leap out of the way, tumbling over the ground. Byleth is caked with more mud and blood than before, the arrowhead in her shoulder throbbing painfully. The air is thick with smoke, but she sees Felix engaging a nearby swordsman. Relieved that he’s alive, she turns her attention to the direction the fireball was launched.

About two dozen mages are headed her way. 

_Fuck._

Felix returns to her side, his chest heaving but lifting his sword. Byleth does the same, snapping her sword like a whip and daring those damn mages to try and kill either of them. The lead mage has miasma ready on her fingertips, and Byleth readies herself for the blast.

An arrow pierces the mage point blank before she can release her spell, and four more find their marks before the battalion scrambles. Byleth hears the screech of a wyvern behind her. _It can’t be,_ she thinks, noticing Felix’s equally bewildered expression as the battalion of mages turns their attention upwards. The only wyvern rider she knows that uses a bow is-

A figure leaps down from the sky, holding… Byleth peers through the smoke, and she instantly recognizes the eerie glow of Failnaught. The wielder isn’t Claude though. It’s obviously a woman. She turns around, and Byleth is met with the green eyes she loves so much.

 _Oh._

Byleth whips her sword out at an incoming mage. “Claude’s mother,” she realizes.

At the same time, Tiana von Riegan momentarily lowers the Hero’s Relic, her eyes flicking from Byleth’s sword to her hair before saying, “Khalid’s goddess.” 

Wait a minute. _Whose Goddess_?

She doesn’t get to mull over it, because her and Felix are both startled by a loud battle cry from the east, and they turn to see a _large_ group of wyvern riders approaching them. 

Byleth scoffs, although she’s secretly overjoyed. It certainly took him long enough, and he was always one for a dramatic entrance. 

She’s glad he’s here all the same, and with perfect timing.

Tiana hops back up onto her wyvern. “A pleasure to make your aquaintance, Your Majesty,” she nods, letting another arrow fly. “When you’ve won this battle I’d love to get to know you some.” With a wink, she takes off into the air, leaving a stunned Byleth and Felix on the ground surrounded by dead arrow ridden mages.

Definitely Claude’s mother. 

  
  


__________

  
  
  


The arrival of the Royal Almyran Fleet had quickly turned the tides of war in their favour. They surely would have fallen, had Claude not arrived. Now, the remnants of Fódlan’s army was reconvening back within Derdriu’s walls before going out to assess the field. As they head towards the medical tents, Byleth has a hard time keeping an even pace. She’s more or less dragging Felix, whose arm she hoists over her shoulder as he limps beside her. 

“Thanks,” he mutters when she roughly drops him in front of Marianne, immediately spinning on her heel and looking for a certain individual. She catches him a few tents away, talking to Hilda. When he spots her walking towards him, a smile brighter than the Almyran sun breaks out on his face, and he pushes past Hilda, jogging towards her, his pace steadily picking up. 

“By,” he grins, and Goddess, hearing his voice again is music to her ears. Seeing that smile… it makes all those months alone worth it. Claude yells something she doesn’t quite catch, his eyes are wide and he’s sprinting now. Oh, seeing those eyes again is a comfort she’d seeked for so long. He’s here, he’s in front of her and the feeling is so-

Painful. 

Byleth looks down at herself and sees the javelin protruding through the centre of her chest. She sways first a second before dropping to her knees.

She tries to go back in time, but realizes that for the first time, she's completely drained. Talk about timing. 

Before her face can hit the ground, strong arms catch her, and she can faintly catch the scent of pine and sandalwood mixed with sweat and blood. Claude’s panicked face stares down at her, and she can feel blood dribble from the corner of her mouth and down her chin. It’s too hard to breathe. 

“Claude,” she tries to say, feeling his hands press down around her wound. His breathing sounds more ragged than her own, between breaths he’s muttering something she can’t understand in Almyran.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” he tells her, but she can tell that he’s lying. Her eyes begin to flutter shut because she’s _so tired,_ but he shakes her gently. “No, By. No. Open your eyes. Please, come on,” he begs, and she wants to comply, but she can’t. It hurts. “Just stay awake a little longer okay? Let me see those beautiful eyes, let me see them. Marianne?! Lysithea?!” His voice breaks, and Byleth feels something heavy in her chest. Something more painful than the javelin that impales it.

“I’m sorry,” she coughs, willing the air to enter her lungs. What is she most sorry for in this moment? Failing to keep the peace in the country he fought hard to win over? Dying in his arms because she was stupid enough to let her guard down minutes after a war?

Claude shakes his head, and she feels one of his tears drip down onto her cheek. “Stop that. Please, I can’t lose you. I can’t do this without you. I need you, I love you. I love you. By? By. Stay awake, please.” Her eyes droop shut against her will. She can’t force them open anymore. "By. By?!” 

As the darkness falls over her, the last thing she registers is Claude screaming her name and the feel of white magic coursing through her veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the back of her mind, Byleth distantly hears Sothis slap her forehead and compare her to a boulder. 
> 
> that hurt me to write, i'm so sorry friends.


	7. The Goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude is sad. Byleth gets the roast of a lifetime.

The prognosis wasn’t good. 

Well, it wasn’t completely terrible either, but Claude didn’t exactly like what Marianne and Manuela had said. They’d worked for about seven hours straight to safely remove the javelin from Byleth’s chest. Her lack of a heartbeat made it a little tricky to navigate her status throughout the operation. Marianne said she was lucky though, the javelin had landed below where her heart should be, and her crest had healed the puncture wound she suffered on her lung. Byleth’s external wound, however, had gotten infected, and that was their main cause of concern. The infection had in turn brought on a fever that was much too high for their liking.

They’d also said she should have at least woken up in pain by now. So why hadn’t she? 

That’s what scared Claude; Byleth being asleep. She’d woken up on the day of the Millennium Festival, a whole five years after Seteth had announced that she was among those presumed missing or dead. If anyone else had told him that they were asleep for five years, Claude would have called them insane. To sleep for five years was anything but normal.

His Teach though…she was anything but normal, so when the words came out of her mouth, he found himself actually believing her. Byleth was never one to lie, especially not to him. She wields the Sword of the Creator, she has a crest stone for a heart, and she is one with the very goddess of Fódlan. She’d told him the truth after she’d merged with the goddess, and even back then he had believed her. Given her overall track record, Claude had little reason  _ not _ to believe her. 

Nevertheless, Claude was still a man who liked to know all the facts. He needed to understand the reasons behind her odd slumber. Extensive research confirmed that she was in some kind of healing coma for those five years. It was something similar to the dormant state that Saint Cethleann had entered to recover from injuries she sustained in the War of Heroes. Falling from a cliff certainly justified a need for long term healing. At least that was what he had deduced from the books he totally did not steal from Seteth’s private collection. 

So, perhaps that’s what she was doing, and the fact alone comforted him a little. If she was sleeping, then her body was healing and that meant she would be okay. But would she sleep for five years again? Would Claude be forced to live with her in his arms but simultaneously out of his reach? 

He hoped not. 

“Claude?” At the mention of his name, he looks up from where he sits on the floor outside Byleth’s quarters. Marianne stands in the crack of the door, watching him with tired eyes. “Manuela and I need to speak with you.” Claude nods, slowly pushing himself off the ground, the audible pops and cracks of his joints reminding him of how long he had been sitting. He follows Marianne into the room, his breath catching in his throat when he sees Byleth’s still form laying in bed. Though her cheeks appear flushed, her skin is ghastly pale, dark circles underneath her eyes. Her chest rises and falls unevenly, and blood is already beginning to seep through the bandages twined around her chest. 

“Her fever is rising at a pace far faster than normal,” Manuela explains, but he can’t take his eyes off of Byleth. “At the rate it’s rising, it’s possible it may break within the next few days. If it does, then it will certainly be easier for us to help move her recovery along, especially if we get the plants we need to make the antibiotic in time. If not…” Claude shuts his eyes, and Manuela stops talking. “She’s a fighter, Claude. It’ll take more than a fever to take her from us, but it’s ultimately up to her now,” Manuela reassures him, squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll give you a minute. Let us know if you need anything.” 

Claude hears the two physician’s footsteps leave the room, only opening his eyes when the door shuts behind them. He slowly approaches Byleth’s bedside, dropping to his knees and gingerly taking her hand in his trembling one. It’s warm. Much warmer than he remembers. 

Then again, it has been about six months since he’s touched her last. 

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, bringing her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you, that I wasn’t there for you.” He hadn’t gotten to her in time. He’d spotted the assassin behind her when it was too late. He was too late. The javelin had gone through her chest before he could reach her. It was just like the day Garreg Mach was attacked. He’d watched her get hit with the ball of dark magic and watched her land on the edge of the cliff. He was going to run for her, but a demonic beast had blocked his path. By the time he had gotten around it, she was gone. He’d failed her then, and he’d failed her now. 

“Please, Byleth,” he pleads quietly, hoping she can hear him. “Do you think you can come back to me one more time? I can’t do this without you. I couldn’t then, and I can’t now. I need you, By.” He does, he truly does. Not just because his brain is only half as useful as it should be without her, or because she wields the Sword of the Creator, but because he  _ loves _ her. He wants to hold her hand and stroll through town. He wants her to lay her head in his lap while they read in the gardens. He wants  _ her _ . More than any crown, any title. Claude has never wanted anything so badly in his life. 

He carefully strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “It’s not worth it if I don’t have you by my side. Please, my star. It’s up to you now. Stay or...go. Whatever you choose...I hope you know I love you.” She was his goddess. There was no way a fever could take his goddess away from him, right?

Claude doesn’t leave her side for three days. 

  
  


__________

There’s only darkness and Byleth can’t move. Well, she can’t do anything really. She doesn’t feel anything, see anything, smell anything. 

She can hear something though. 

_ Honestly! Such a fool you still are. Have you really learned nothing? Are you still just a boulder that rolls down whatever hill it’s on? _

It’s a familiar voice, and a familiar insult.  _ “Sothis?” _

_ Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?  _

_ “I thought you were gone.”  _

_ That may be true, but your constant inability to safeguard your own life seems to drag me back to you more often than not.  _

_ “What happened?”  _

_ You were an idiot! Letting your guard down mere minutes after a battle where the goal is to claim your head! Not sweeping the city to search for assassins. I thought you were a tactician. You fool!  _

_ “Am I dead? Is that why I can hear you?”  _

Sothis doesn’t reply for a few seconds.  _ Sort of.  _

_ “What is that supposed to mean?” _

_ Are you really giving me lip right now? I did come back to save your life yet again, you know.  _

Byleth wishes she could roll her eyes.  _ “Thanks.”  _

Sothis makes a displeased sound.  _ You aren’t dead yet. You’re just dying. _

She remembers the javelin. Claude’s arms. His tears.  _ “Yeah, I’m  _ just _ dying. Great.” _

_ Hmph. That Claude has made you much too sarcastic for my liking.  _

_ “You did always like his sense of humour though, didn’t you?”  _

_ From time to time I enjoyed his practical jokes on that - the one with the odd hair? Lawrence? _

_ “Lorenz,”  _ Byleth corrects, like she has many times. 

_ Whatever. I did not enjoy the sarcastic attitude of your little fawn. Do you not remember his prayer at  _ my _ tower? The nerve on that one, I swear.  _

Byleth has to bite back a laugh as she recalls Claude’s mock prayer the night of the ball. “ _ Well, I agreed to marry that sarcastic little fawn. By the way, he’s a king now.” _

_ And you are a queen. Is it not amusing how the world works? Back then, you could hardly plan a lesson. Now you make plans for an entire continent.  _

_ “How do you know these things?” _

_ I may have disappeared from your mind, but I am the goddess of Fódlan, you daft girl. You awakened my powers before I disappeared. I know and see everything, especially when it concerns you. _

_ “You see…Everything?”  _ Byleth almost doesn’t want to know.

For some reason, Byleth can imagine Sothis rolling her eyes.  _ Unfortunately. With the way he takes you, you’ll only be having boys.  _

She would have definitely blushed.  _ “You’re weird...but I’ve missed you, Sothis.”  _

A pause.  _ I have missed you too. I did not come to reminisce, however. You are still dying. We need to fix that.  _

_ “How?”  _

_ Your body is severely weakened by infection, and you are still weak from the healing of your lung. Right now you are unable to fight a rising fever.  _

_ “What do I do?”  _

_ What you always have. You hang on a little longer. I shall help you as best I can. _

A bright light breaks through the darkness, like a light at the end of a long tunnel.  _ Stay or go?  _ Sothis asks her. Byleth hears water sloshing.

_ You should choose soon. You are worrying your little fawn. _

_ “Am I out of danger now? Is that what that light is?” _

_ That depends.  _

_ “On what?”  _

_ What do you wish for? _

_ “To return home to my family.”  _

_ Your little ones. I recall. Go on now, return to them. And Byleth? _

_ “Yes?” _

_ The path you put us on...I think you chose the right one. Walk it proudly. _

_ “Thank you, Sothis.” _

  
  


__________

  
  


Claude places a still unconscious Byleth into the tub as carefully as he can manage with his shaking hands, submerging her neck down in the cool water. Her fever had gotten too high, and Marianne insisted they move her as a last resort. Manuela is holding up her head, and Marianne is soothing an antibiotic down her throat. Claude watches as she pours some liquid into her slack mouth, rubbing Byleth’s throat to help her swallow it. 

Manuela checks Byleth’s pulse, sighing slightly, then checks her temperature. This time, her brow furrows a little, and she checks again. “Her fever,” she murmurs to Marianne. “It’s...broken.” 

Marianne looks stunned. “How? The antibiotic just entered her system, and it’s only been three days.” 

Right on cue, Byleth’s eyes shoot open, and she sputters out the liquid Marianne had just poured into her mouth. She starts coughing, and Claude immediately pulls her out of the water, grabbing a nearby towel. “By!” Being mindful of her wound, he carefully wraps the towel around her and pulls her into a hug. She only groans in response, letting her head rest on his chest as Claude rises to his feet, bringing her back into the bedroom and laying her down. He steps back when Marianne shoves him out of the way.

Claude watches anxiously as the physicians perform a quick check up in a now conscious Byleth. When they unwrap the wet bandages covering her wound, they find it in much better condition than it was this morning. 

A miracle, is what Manuela calls it. 

They leave after determining that she’s somehow officially out of danger, heading off to get some much needed sleep. Claude stays instead, watching her carefully as she rests. She’s still much too weak to do anything. 

“How do you feel?” He asks, once again taking her hand. This time, she squeezes back softly, and Claude feels his heart soar. He's so incredibly relieved. She's here, she's alive, and she's with him.

“Still a little tired,” she rasps quietly. “How long was I… out?” 

Claude sighs. “About four days. You had us all worried there, By.” 

Byleth frowns slightly. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, and Claude wonders what she could possibly have to be sorry for. 

“For what?” He questions, moving to sit on her bedside.

“For missing the signs leading up to the attack and almost dying because of it.” He knows how sorry she was about the attack. He’d read it in her letter. Claude didn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault. No one knew. It was impossible to know. 

Claude shakes his head. “Both of those things were not your fault, By. You did the best you could with what you had. You’re not expected to be a perfect ruler. If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“For leaving and not coming back soon enough,” he says imediately. “If I had come back sooner to help you out...maybe you wouldn’t be in this position.” 

“You had to leave and you had to stay there as long as you did,” Byleth points out. “I wouldn’t ever hold it against you, it was part of your dream,” she whispers, and she reaches out to touch his cheek. Claude leans into her touch, kissing her palm. 

“My star, it isn’t my dream unless you’re with me.” 

Byleth blinks at him. Once. Twice. A slow smile spreads across her face. "Since when were you so sappy?" Byleth scoffs, but Claude catches the mirth in her voice. 

Claude can't hold back a smile. "Since when were you so sassy?" He retorts, overjoyed to fall back into their old song and dance. 

Byleth tilts her head, raising a brow. "Maybe since my fiancé threw a ring at me and left me in charge of a continent?" 

"Can't argue with that," he sighs, because he really can't. Byleth giggles, and the sound alone is enough to lift his spirits higher than they have been in months. "I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh? A lot of things to make up for." 

Byleth intertwines her fingers with his. "My love, as long as I have you at my side, there's nothing to make up for."

__________

  
  
  


Two weeks later in her study, Byleth sits in her chair, her crown on her head, Claude standing behind her with a crown of his own. She was recovering nicely, and the first thing she needed to tend to couldn’t wait any longer. 

Hilda paces in front of them, arms crossed over her chest as she mutters incoherently. She stops suddenly, swinging around to look them both dead in the eye. “So, let me get this straight. You,” she points at Claude, “the  _ King _ of Almyra - when did that happen by the way? And you,” she points at Byleth, “the  _ Queen _ of Fódlan want me to plan your wedding? When did you even get engaged?” 

Byleth and Claude exchange a look. “A week after Nemesis,” Byleth winces, shrinking back in her chair.

Hilda blinks at them, her eyes wide. Byleth wonders if she should pretend that her wound is acting up. Once Hilda is over the initial surprise, she slams her fist on Byleth’s desk, and even Claude jumps. “You got engaged almost seven whole months ago and neither of you  _ told me? _ ” 

Claude sighs deeply behind her. “Can you do it or not, Hil? We were going to ask Dorothea,” he teases, and Hilda glares at him 

“Of course I can do it, who do you think I am?” She scoffs, snatching a nearby quill and some paper. “I may not be good at battle tactics and strategy, but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s plan a party. Just leave it to me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end of Hilda & the Fawn's interlude! I'm so excited for you all to read the first fic of the wedding series, which will be up later this week! 
> 
> Also, I'm thinking about starting an extras series for Hilda & the Fawn, so if you have any ideas or prompts you'd like to see, don't hesitate to let me know! 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and for all your feedback and kind words, friends! 
> 
> Abby


End file.
